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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24953494">who i am (i am)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/isozyme/pseuds/isozyme'>isozyme</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Character Study, Cunnilingus, F/M, Missing Scene, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Virgin Steve Rogers, motel sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:21:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,167</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24953494</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/isozyme/pseuds/isozyme</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em></em>
</p><div class="center">
  <p><em>Steve had only kissed someone because he wanted to once, and then he’d died.</em><br/>◈<br/>An extra scene set during Captain America: Winter Soldier.</p>
</div>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>167</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>who i am (i am)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you Hopelesse for enabling, as usual. Started as an excuse to write graphic pussy-eating, turned into sort of a thesis on Steve and Nat’s identity issues.</p><p>Title from <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZHRAGOkd18o">Who I Am by Barnaby Bright.</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Bed and breakfast up ahead,” Steve said, and pulled into the right lane of the highway. “Says they have abandoned mine tours. Looks nice.”</p><p>He smiled over at Nat in the passenger seat, trying to make the best of a bad situation. He could almost pretend they were on a trip upstate to go hiking. Nat looked at him like he was as dumb as a sack of rocks.</p><p>“<em>That’s</em> going to be staffed by a nice little old lady who knows all the state troopers by name. Her name’ll be Susan and she’ll hover while she serves us fresh-squeezed orange juice and then be offended when we won’t tell her our entire life story. We’re going to a Motel 6.”</p><p>Steve didn’t ask what a Motel 6 was, because he was pretty sure it’d make Nat raise an eyebrow as if next to him a fence post would look like a Harvard graduate. She noticed him frowning at the dashboard of their stolen Ford and explained anyway, less cuttingly than he’d expected. “Motel 6 means two twin beds they say are queens, an ice machine outside, and very convenient parking.”</p><p>It sat between them, heavy and unspoken, that it would be better not to stop. But today had seen Steve labeled a traitor, beat to hell in an elevator, and then taking a six-story drop on his left shoulder. He needed a couple hours to nurse the bruises under his shirt and get his head back on straight.</p><p>“Where’re we finding this fine establishment, then?”</p><p>Nat lifted one shoulder, then dropped it. “There’s always a Motel 6 eventually.”</p><p>That seemed like good enough tactics to Steve. Too much planning got you in trouble when you were running scared. He watched the road for signs. </p><p>As he drove, Nat fidgeted. She had the knack for perfect stillness on a stakeout, but in the car she was constantly shifting, looking through the glove box, twisting to check behind the seats for magazines in their back pockets, fiddling with the radio.</p><p>Steve wondered if she was naturally restless, or if this was a persona she put on too. Road-trip-companion Natasha. It was strange to think that Nat would make up a person to be while it was just the two of them driving along a mostly-empty highway.</p><p>Nat dug around in the center console and found the receipt they’d gotten from the gas station. They’d paid in the cash that Nat kept on her -- Nat apparently sewed large bills as well as small blades into the insides of all her underthings -- so there wasn’t a debit card trail to follow.</p><p>SHIELD had worked hard to acclimatize Steve to a world that made its transactions with plastic instead of paper. They’d insisted he get used to spending fake computer money wherever he went, and told him that carrying cash made him a target for muggers.</p><p>“Who’s going to successfully mug me?” Steve had asked, flexing the square of plastic between his fingers to see how easily it would break.</p><p>“Punching petty criminals’ faces inside-out is not a good look for Captain America,” Pierce had said.</p><p>Now Steve thought they’d had a different reason for trying to get him to go digital. It made him easier to track. They’d known his daily routine like it he’d written it out for them. They probably knew what he had in his refrigerator.</p><p>Thinking about his fridge reminded Steve that there were some nice fresh ramps in his crisper drawer back home. He’d gotten them from the farmer’s market the past weekend. Steve’s ma had always said ramps were good for cleansing the blood and warming up the chest, and he’d seen them on the lady’s little table and been happy people still ate them.</p><p>The ramps were probably going to go bad before this mess was sorted out. Steve hoped the strike team hadn’t upended his kitchen in search of clues. The thought of the bundle of ramps that he’d paid eight entire dollars for laying on the floor, wilting, almost stung worse than knowing he’d been working for a rotten institution for the past two years.</p><p>Nat took her time reading the gas station receipt, although it wasn’t much to look at. They’d bought Gatorade and an IcyHot patch for Steve, fuel for the truck, a pack of cigarettes that neither of them was likely to smoke, and a tube of loudly pink lip gloss that Nat seemed very pleased to find up by the register.</p><p>When she finished reading, Nat tore the receipt in half long-ways, rolled the window down a few inches, and flicked it out of the car.</p><p>Steve raised an eyebrow and didn’t say anything about littering, but made sure to think it loudly enough for Nat to pick up on with her spy senses.</p><p>“You want Rumlow to find out where this car has been by looking in the cupholder?” Nat asked smoothly, rolling the window back up. “We’re saving our own asses first, Captain Planet.”</p><p>“Could have put it in the garbage at a rest stop,” Steve said under his breath, trying not to sound petulant.</p><p>Nat suddenly leaned forward and snatched the truck owner’s sunglasses from where they hung on the rearview mirror. “Hey, what about that cute translator SHIELD just brought in? She’s single and speaks both Somali and Amharic.”</p><p>Ah. The get-Steve-a-date conversation again. Steve didn’t speak Somali or Amharic. He could limp through French or German and swear in Italian, but that was it.</p><p>“Why are you so fixated on this?” Steve asked.</p><p>Nat slid the sunglasses onto her face and stretched with her hands laced behind her head, grinning sideways at Steve. The glasses had round, silvered lenses and thin wire frames. As soon as they settled onto her nose, they looked like they belonged there. Not because they complimented her face or her outfit particularly; she simply became the kind of person who wore sunglasses like that. Laid back, looking forward to a barbeque on the weekend.</p><p>“‘Cause it bugs you,” Nat answered, still grinning.</p><p>Steve rolled his eyes. “Liar.”</p><p>Nat pulled her borrowed sunglasses down and regarded him over the tops of the rims. “Always, Stevie.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>◈</p>
</div>The Motel 6 was actually a Super 8, but Nat said that was the same thing. As they pulled up, Nat took the lip gloss she’d bought and applied it, not quite neatly, on her lips. Then she used her fingertip to rub some in circles high on her cheeks, making them look sticky and flushed.<p>She ran her hands through her hair, messing it up, then pinched a few sections of it and pulled upwards, tip to scalp, so it frizzed.</p><p>The sunglasses went on Steve. So did a bit of the lip gloss, dabbed with Natasha’s accurate fingers on the corner of his mouth.</p><p>“It’s so hard to make you look like a scumbag,” Nat complained. “Could you slouch a bit?”</p><p>Steve pulled his shoulders down, trying to make his spine relax.</p><p>She snorted and shook her head. “It’s hopeless, you’re too much of a sweet virgin.”</p><p>Steve would have protested, but it would have been a lie, and Nat would know. In truth he -- the chorus girls were <em>coworkers,</em> and Peggy had been -- he hadn’t -- the past two years he just hadn’t. He wasn’t going to use any of the apps. He had only kissed someone because he wanted to once, and then he’d died.</p><p>It had just been easier to focus on work.</p><p>Nat’s gaze darted away and the corners of her mouth tensed. She didn’t like seeing people accidentally laid bare; Steve was pretty sure she thought it was rude to notice the secrets of her friends if they weren’t given on purpose.</p><p>Somehow Nat wiggled out of her shirt without taking off her hoodie. Then she unzipped the hoodie far enough to reveal a lot of cleavage and a little bit of bra. When Steve stood next to her he was going to be able to see straight down to her navel.</p><p>“Just glue your eyes to my tits, okay?” she said gently.</p><p>Steve felt himself blush. That was going to be easier than she thought. He’d always liked, well, the kind of chest that Nat had. He didn’t mean to be gross about it, but he thought it would be nice to cup them, soft and heavy, in his hands. Maybe to kiss the smooth place where the skin transitioned from sternum to breast.</p><p>Natasha was his friend and coworker, and she wasn’t looking for any romantic burdens. Certainly she didn’t want a messed-up hermit like Steve.</p><p>When they got to the motel lobby, it sure felt like Nat wanted him. She plastered herself to his side, throwing a stumble into her step so she had an excuse to grab at him to support herself. She looked flushed, sweaty, and thrilled that she was about to do something naughty. All her usual poise was gone -- she seemed five years younger, a college student being impulsive and stupid.</p><p>Nat did all the talking with the lady at the front desk, stifling giggles the entire time. Steve could practically feel her looking at his crotch, sharing significant glances with the receptionist. Somehow she made it feel like she was wordlessly communicating the exact dimensions of his equipment. For his part, Steve kept his eyes dutifully fixed on her cleavage and tried to think non-carnal thoughts.</p><p>Steve understood Nat’s strategy. Nobody watched the drunk couple looking for a place to share a night too closely. If the front desk woman was paying attention to the front of Steve’s jeans and Nat’s neckline, she wasn’t memorizing their faces.</p><p>But it was going to be awful embarrassing if he got a hardon from this, because Nat would definitely notice him taking care of himself in the shower.</p><p>Nat put an arm around Steve and swayed them out of the lobby, pausing occasionally to lean up and whisper in his ear.</p><p>“Nice work in there, she was too uncomfortable to look up even once,” she said, her breasts brushing Steve’s bicep as she went on her tiptoes to bring her lips to his ear. “Now blush like I said <em>I want you to suck on my nipples.</em>”</p><p>Steve coughed on his own spit and blushed obediently.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>◈</p>
</div>As soon as the motel door clicked shut behind them, Nat dropped him and shut the curtains with a crisp swish of fabric.<p>The persona was gone. She was Nat again. The cheap, sticky makeup was strange on her face, and she was familiar once more.</p><p>“Stop it,” Nat said.</p><p>Steve frowned, casting around for what he was doing other than standing in the middle of a musty motel room. Nat clicked her tongue. “You’re thinking that now I’m the real me.”</p><p>He didn’t have a good answer to that. Nat sighed, kicked off her shoes, and went to the bathroom to tidy up. </p><p>Steve took off his own puffy, ill-fitting sneakers, then stripped off his socks as well, rolling them up and stuffing them into the shoes. When he laid back on the bed, the duvet cover scratched at his skin, betraying cheap fabric and too many washes. The saddle of muscles across his back finally relaxed, and the tight pain in his shoulder eased into a deep, healing ache. He didn’t like admitting it, but his body needed to rest.</p><p>Nat poked her head out of the bathroom. Steve propped himself up on his elbows, watching as she scrubbed her face dry with a towel. </p><p>“Have you met Janelle from cryptography? Glasses, good skin, big hair?”</p><p>Steve groaned and fell flat with a thud. A spring poked him in the spine. Good grief, the mattresses here were garbage.</p><p>“I don’t need help getting out of the house,” Steve said, staring at the ceiling.</p><p>The bed beside him dipped as Nat sat down beside him. “You absolutely do. When’s the last time you went to a movie?”</p><p>Steve scrunched up his face, trying to think. There’d been one with fast cars and big explosions last summer. It had been too loud and he’d had to excuse himself from the theater halfway through, but it counted. Last summer had been -- months ago. Surely he’d seen something more recently than that.</p><p>“You don’t have to fall in love with her,” Nat said.</p><p>“I <em>know,</em>” Steve said, sharper than he wanted to. He was surprised to find that he was frustrated. He was still fighting down the scraps of arousal from staring at Nat’s cleavage for ten minutes, and he’d stolen a car earlier, and his back felt like one huge bruise. He didn’t need to be reminded of his crappy social life. Or his non-existent sex one.</p><p>People had dual expectations of him. They thought he was an innocent, completely ignorant of anything at all related to sex and void of any desires. But they also looked at him and couldn’t fathom a handsome man like himself not getting any.</p><p>“It doesn’t have to mean that much,” Nat said. “Sex is just sex. There’s no reason for it to be a huge thing. It’s just something two people do sometimes, with a whole lot of different motivations. Sometimes that motivation is just <em>I’m hot, you’re hot, let’s touch.</em>”</p><p>Nat had plenty of sex, and Steve didn’t think much of it had been about making love to someone she cared for. But for Steve -- he at least wanted to be real friends with whoever it was. He couldn’t imagine befriending someone properly over a couple coffee dates and trips to the theater. Maybe that was old-fashioned of him. Steve shut his eyes. It was hard to imagine a future where he’d have time for a serious romance. It might never happen -- he could be taken down next mission, or the mission after that. He’d end up staying naive forever, and the people who thought of him as a lily-white symbol of purity would be right after all. </p><p>Steve could fix that without too much effort. All he had to do was meet one of Nat’s suggestions and take her out for a while. The thought of doing that just to learn what sex was like made Steve feel hollow inside.</p><p>He wouldn’t be much good at it anyway. It wasn’t like he knew what to do.</p><p>“I’d like it to at least know her well,” Steve said. He paused, then said in a smaller, more awkward voice, “especially for the first time.”</p><p>Natasha laid down next to him, curled toward him on her side. She brought her knees up so her shins brushed Steve’s thigh, and rested her head on one hand. “You know me,” she said.</p><p>Steve sucked in an involuntary breath, all the stifled arousal from earlier crackling back to life. Then he got a hold on his libido and reminded himself that Nat was only teasing. He made himself chuckle. “Well, you won’t teach me the joys of sex, so I’m out of luck until I find time to make friends with some more women.”</p><p>“Would you like it if I did?” she asked.</p><p>“Well, sure. Who wouldn’t?” Steve joked back, smirking up at the ceiling. “I’d be honored to have such a teacher.”</p><p>Steve wasn’t sure if that was true or not. She was experienced, and he wouldn’t have to worry about accidentally hurting her; Steve wasn’t afraid that it wouldn’t feel good <em>physically</em>. He knew she wouldn’t be awkward afterwards at work -- not that they had jobs anymore, but that wasn’t the point -- the point was that Nat wouldn’t let it change their friendship. But there wasn’t going to be a romantic connection. It would be <em>I’m-hot-you’re-hot-let’s-touch</em> sex.</p><p>On the other hand, maybe that actually would be the easiest option, Steve thought. His life was never going to be normal. It wasn’t like there were many people with a lot of shared life experience in his dating pool, and Steve’s body was starting to tell him that it liked the thought of Nat touching him. If Nat’s offer had been real, Steve might have taken it.</p><p>“I bet you’d really enjoy giving oral,” Nat said. “You like to focus on whatever task you’re doing, and would always want to be a gentleman in bed. Captain America’s got to be pro-orgasm equality.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t know,” Steve said, and thought about crossing his legs. Nat was winning her private game of making him blush.</p><p>“Alright,” Nat said, and scooted up the bed until she was resting up on the pillows. Steve twisted around to keep facing her. She let her knees fall a few handspans apart and grinned crookedly at him, quirking her full lips. “So, soldier, want to give it a try?”</p><p>Steve boggled stupidly up at Nat. He could feel his eyebrows knitting together. “What, seriously?”</p><p>Nat shrugged. “We have a few hours to kill and this place is bound to have shitty basic cable. I have sex with stakeout partners all the time; it’s a great way to stave off boredom, and means it takes longer for you to get sick of each other.”</p><p>The vague feeling that he shouldn’t have casual sex gave warred against Steve’s exhausted and heartsick body. His baser self <em>wanted,</em> which was distracting and made it hard to come up with strong arguments against burying his face between Nat’s thighs and having a go at it. If he was being honest, it had been a long time since another person had touched his skin anywhere but his hands. Maybe it counted when he headbutted that hijacker on the <em>Lemurian Star?</em> Probably not.</p><p>“C’mon, Rogers,” Nat said. “What kind of gal did you always want to punch your v-card with? The sweetheart next door? One of those capable WAFS pilots? I can be whoever you like.”</p><p>Steve shook his head and resisted the urge to cover his face with his palm. This wasn’t a good plan. What had he even been thinking?</p><p>He’d been thinking that he was lonely, and Natasha was there. She looked warm, and kind, and -- Steve realized with surprise -- nervous. Nat threw up smokescreens as a matter of course, but not this transparently. This meant more to her than she was letting on. Maybe they both needed a little human comfort right now; maybe Natasha needed someone to play along for the moment.</p><p>“Remember when you taught me to shoot that stupid plastic gun?” Steve asked.</p><p>“Yes, I do. You spent half the time lecturing me on how kids were going to print themselves an arsenal in their parents’ garages, and the other half grousing that the thing was going to blow up in your hand,” Nat said. Steve still felt he’d been right on both those points.</p><p>“Can you be her?”</p><p>Nat paused, then blew her bangs up out of her face and laughed. “Nobody wants to have sex with <em>her.</em> That’s not the point of that one.”</p><p>“I promise not to complain about how you’re prone to stress fractures,” Steve said. “If this is going to be a super-special lesson to teach Captain America to perform oral sex, I don’t want you to pretend it’s something else.”</p><p>A muscle tightened in Nat’s cheek, a clumsy tell, and then she put on a pair of heavy-lidded bedroom eyes. “It could be something else,” she said, rough and honeyed.</p><p>“<em>Nat,</em>” Steve said, aggrieved. She wasn’t even <em>trying</em> with that one.</p><p>“You’re no fun,” Nat sighed, but she was hiding a smile in an expression that, if not entirely genuine, was at least a few layers closer to the real thing.</p><p>One time Steve had climbed into an experimental diving bell short and asthmatic and came out clear-lunged and tall, and yet this still felt like the strangest thing he’d ever done. A virgin and a Russian spy walk into a bar -- had to be a punchline in there somewhere. Cautiously, he let himself look at Nat’s cleavage, taking in the creamy swell of flesh bared by her unzipped hoodie. He allowed his eyes to wander to where her nipples were just barely visible beneath the fabric. They’d probably be hard under his palms if he ran his hands over her breasts.</p><p>When he checked Nat’s face, she was grinning at him with one eyebrow quirked. “How’s the view treating you, Rogers?”</p><p>“Not half bad,” he said honestly.</p><p>Natasha drew the zip of her hoodie down to her navel, revealing a black bra that clasped in the front and a stomach knotted with a handful of scars. Steve swallowed on nothing and glanced away reflexively. He wasn’t the kind of guy who peeked in the shower or ogled when a woman cut her shirt open to dress a wound.</p><p>Then she undid her bra with a quiet plastic click, and Steve remembered that he was supposed to be appreciating her. Her naked breasts fell low over her chest, gravity betraying how soft and full they were compared to the rest of her; Steve thought of Nat’s whip-cord muscles, iron grip on a pistol and ever-present cutting wit as he stared. The contrast was striking and arousing. His hands would be large on her chest, allowing him to feel all the textures on her, from the twisted scar on her ribs to the rosy, puckered skin surrounding the peaks of her nipples.</p><p>“What do I do next?” Steve asked, feeling impossibly clumsy and naive.</p><p>She cocked her head, pursing her lips and considering him. “Well, how do you feel about kissing?”</p><p>The previous time had gone so poorly; Steve’s stomach twisted with shame. The thought of kissing Natasha without the pressure of a mission and then going back to just friends -- Steve wasn’t sure he could do it. “Maybe better -- better not,” he said haltingly.</p><p>Nat nodded, unfazed, like he’d suggested wind sprints instead of running hills for their workout routine. “Then I think you should wriggle up here and get your mouth on my tits.”</p><p>That sounded good. Really good.</p><p>Steve rolled over and propped himself up on top of Natasha so her thighs straddled his waist and his face was even with her cleavage. He’d never been in this position before, never taken up an invitation to touch.</p><p>“Okay,” Nat said, and ran one hand through his hair. It felt wonderful, surprisingly different from getting a haircut. He wanted her to do it again. Nat, ever-observant, did: she scratched her fingernails across his scalp and grinned. “I don’t think I’ve ever taken someone’s virginity before, this is new. You’re a step up from most inexperienced guys already -- they all just want to touch a boob and stick it in.”</p><p>Steve frowned. “That’s not the point at all.” You were supposed to make your lady feel nice.</p><p>“God, you’re sweet,” she said. “Now watch.”</p><p>With one hand, Nat cupped her breast, demonstrating. She teased her nipple with quick fingers, rubbing over the tip, then pinching just hard enough to dimple the flesh underneath. After a few moments, she stopped -- Steve’s turn. Carefully, he balanced his weight on one elbow and placed his hand against her.</p><p>Natasha’s breast was cool from being exposed to the air, heavy but yielding as he let it settle against his hand. Her peaked nipple was hard against the base of his thumb. Carefully, he moved to brush the pads of his fingers across it. In response, her thighs squeezed lightly around his waist, like he was a horse and she was nudging him forward. The silent feedback set him at ease. Nat wasn’t going to direct him with breathy moans that he could tell were forced. She’d just give him directions, the same way she’d dispassionately push his limbs around while teaching him throws. Steve would hazard that she liked this way too; instructing rather than fabricating an experience to inflate a man’s ego.</p><p>Twice, Nat had mentioned Steve kissing her here. He dropped his head until his breath whooshed over the curve of her breast. He got another quick squeeze for that. Approval granted, Steve kissed the soft skin beside her nipple, first close-lipped and chaste, then wetter.</p><p>Steve remembered everything since getting the serum. It sometimes made his childhood seem fake in comparison, like a spotty radio transmission of a song next to an orchestra playing it. His memories of his mother, of Bucky, of the dusty fire escape outside the tenement that left lines of soot on the seat of your pants, of all those years being sick were thinned down like milk cut with water. This, however, was going to be clear in his mind, no skipped frames, all close-ups. </p><p><em>I want you to suck on my nipples</em>. Natasha had said it to make him blush, but -- </p><p>Selfishly, Steve took the risk. He moved his mouth a few inches to the right and ran the tip of his tongue around Nat’s nipple. She tightened her legs, then hit him in the back of the thigh with her heel for good measure.</p><p>He drew more of her breast into his mouth, then let it pop free and licked her, mirroring what he was doing with his fingers with his tongue.</p><p>“Nice,” Nat said. “You’re handsome when you concentrate, hot stuff. Now if you switch and use your hand while it’s still wet -- yeah. That.”</p><p>With a combination of verbal instructions and non-verbal cues, Natasha taught him where to touch and how much she wanted him to use his teeth. Steve could tell she was getting tender from how her skin pinked, and tried to be more gentle. He was also picking up the scent of her body, more intensely than he could usually smell people. His nose was attuned to fear-sweat and the flat odor of exhaustion on a soldier; arousal he smelled less often, usually when somebody in his unit had snuck out for some feminine comfort and come back faintly exuding <em>woman</em> and cheap perfume. Every so often he’d catch the scent on Pepper while she looked at Stark and have to leave the room in a hurry. This was stronger, and his face heated at the thought that he’d elicited the response.</p><p>Steve shifted his hips to assuage the heat building between his legs, and found that the movement ground his pelvis against Nat’s crotch. He stopped.</p><p>“I think I’m ready for step two,” Nat said in response. “We’re going to have to get up first; I’m not sitting bare-assed on this duvet cover if I can help it.”</p><p>Given the plasticy prickle of the motel blanket, Steve agreed. It wasn’t the kind of texture he wanted rubbing on his dick, or any sensitive part of him for that matter.</p><p>Nat stripped the rest of the way with soldiers’ efficiency. Steve took his clothes off a little slower, while Nat threw back the covers and checked around the edges of the mattress for bed bugs. Steve glanced critically at his cock while Natasha’s back was turned, making sure it didn’t look too soft or too small. He knew most men were circumcised these days, and he wasn’t. Hopefully Nat wouldn’t mind.</p><p>Bed adjusted to her liking, Nat sprawled naked across the sheets, the picture of seduction until she reached up to scratch the side of her nose. Steve suppressed the phantom itch that arose on his own nose. Nat winked at him and kicked one leg out to the side.</p><p>Obviously Steve had seen dirty pictures before. He and his kid friend Arnie had snuck into the back room at the comics shop once and peeked at the blue magazines, Steve with guilty fascination and Arnie with mild bemusement. Nat wasn’t like that hazy memory, or any of the other photos he’d looked briefly at since. Her skin was darker between her thighs than anywhere else, hair creeping across the creases of her thighs.</p><p>“You’ll have to make do with this,” Nat said, combing her fingers briskly through her pubic hair to make it lie flat. “Haven’t had time to get a Brazillian or bleach my asshole for a while.”</p><p>Steve shook his head mutely, unable to stop looking. He wasn’t going to ask why bleached assholes were a thing; the future could keep that mystery, along with meatspin and whatever Scientology was. His thoughts stumbled on what to call her -- her cunt. The vulgar, direct word satisfied him; he could hear in his mind how Nat would say it out loud. It would be solid in her voice, as frank as everything else she said to him. <em>Your elbow is too low. He’ll die if you hit him with your shield like that. I want you to eat my cunt.</em></p><p>Steve knew the general vocabulary of female anatomy. There had been one terrible week in a film studio that Steve spent recording a series of educational videos for a SHIELD-sponsored project named <em>Kids R Super</em>. There’d been a segment for sexual education class called You And Your Body: What’s Changing? Steve had joked that maybe Bruce should do the puberty section, then been glared into submission by Nick Fury’s baleful eye. Fury informed him that his body had also undergone some radical changes, and he didn’t get mean, green, and difficult for public relations when it happened to him, so turn around and point to things on the anatomical chart, Captain.</p><p>This wasn’t like health class. Natasha’s cunt was a little asymmetrical, one of her inner folds broader and more ruffled, its twin almost tucked away. At her center was a stripe of pink, slick flesh, and beyond that, still hidden, the entrance to her body. Steve found he wanted, very much, to fit his open mouth over that delicate place and lick her open. He’d like to shut his eyes and map that intimate topography with his lips, taste it, give her pleasure without taking any for himself.</p><p><em>You’ll be bad at it</em>, Steve’s thoughts reminded him.</p><p>
  <em>But Nat will make sure I get better.</em>
</p><p>“Ground control to Major Tom,” Nat said, waving up at him. “I didn’t know my pussy could shock a man stupid.”</p><p>The fact that Nat already knew he was clumsy and over-earnest but somehow still wanted to teach him was a comfort.<em> Okay,</em> Steve thought. <em>Let’s do this.</em></p><p>Steve crawled up on the bed, then flopped down on the sheets so he could lay his head on Nat’s leg, just above the knee. It left his feet hanging about a foot and a half over the edge -- the motel wasn’t generous with bed-space.</p><p>“It’s my first time,” Steve said, pillowing his cheek on the inside of her lower thigh. Her skin lay satin-smooth over steely muscle. From here he could smell her even more clearly. “Let a virgin have his moment.” </p><p>He said most of it without sounding self-pitying, which he was counting as a point of pride.</p><p>Nat took a deep breath, then parted herself with one hand. Steve could see now how wet she was, fingers slick and shiny after only a few strokes. She was confident touching herself, clearly familiar with the territory, as it were. Steve didn’t know why he was surprised -- he knew <em>his</em> junk pretty well, and women masturbated just like men.</p><p>“I can give you an introductory course in pleasing women or a step-by-step manual on how to get me off -- which do you prefer?”</p><p>“You’re on the receiving end,” Steve said. “Let’s make it as good for you as we can manage.”</p><p>“I like your spirit, Rogers,” Nat said.</p><p>Steve army-crawled up to her, which got him a laugh, until his nose was just about even with her clit. Then he tried to figure out what to do with his hands. It seemed okay if he put his arms under her thighs and stroked over her stomach; she didn’t flinch away, instead grabbing a couple of pillows from the head of the bed and shoving them behind her shoulders so she could see better. A zing of lust went down Steve’s spine with the knowledge that she was watching him all splayed out before her, uncertain and under her control, and he bit his lip to get a handle on himself.</p><p>Both of Nat’s hands landed on his head and she pulled him forward into her cunt. Message received.</p><p>It was easy, then, to open his mouth and kiss her. Nat let out a small <em>ah</em> and ground her hips up encouragingly. Steve used his tongue to trace the contours he’d been ogling earlier. It was like the first ripe persimmon of fall: taut skin split open, flesh so soft and dripping with juice he hardly needed to use his teeth to take a bite. The first persimmon of the season was always a gamble. Come September Steve would sneak off to Staten Island after school some days and walk an hour to find the persimmon trees hidden out back St. Mary’s. He’d climb the low, gnarled branches to feel each fruit to see if it was ripe enough to eat. The unripe persimmons were so bitter they’d make his taste-buds dry out and curl up on themselves, but once the fruits were ready the taste was sweet as anything, all honeyed musk and nectar sliding down his throat and chin. Steve would pick a persimmon that felt just this side of ripe and savor the curl of risk: had he waited long enough, or was he going to get a mouthful of drywall dust for his efforts?</p><p>“What are you thinking about?” Nat asked.</p><p>Steve pulled away a fraction. Nat wasn’t sweet, but she had the same round weight in the hand, the same heavy feeling on the tongue. “That you taste like persimmons.”</p><p>Nat’s cheeks pinked, and Steve wondered what about that was funny. He licked her again to make sure he had the taste right, and then was going to argue that she did definitely remind him of ripe persimmon, but Nat tugged on his hair, demanding he stay put.</p><p>“Don’t try to stick your tongue up my vagina,” Nat instructed. “That doesn’t work. Use your whole mouth, like that. Now suck.”</p><p>He followed her instructions carefully and found that Nat’s prediction was right — he did like it. The press of Nat’s thighs around his ears, the way her fingers scraped through his hair, how she slowly got wetter and hotter under his tongue; it all had him hard and grinding against the thin sheets without even thinking about it. He wasn’t worried, particularly, about how he looked rutting against the bed, because Nat would tell him if it was off putting. He’d asked her to be straightforward, and she was trustworthy.</p><p>Nat mostly stopped using words after a while. She switched to efficiently re-angling her pelvis whenever Steve drifted off course and treated him to hums of approval when he did well. It was like when they fought side-by-side, when speech was too slow and awkward, unsuited for the language of jab and throw. He knew where her body was now, and she knew where he’d be next, so all that was left was to execute the steps of the dance.</p><p>The signs of a woman about to orgasm were opaque to Steve; all he knew was that sometimes a lady faked it to save her man’s ego. He was starting to feel like if he kept rubbing against the bed he’d be done for pretty soon, but couldn’t quite make himself stop.</p><p>“Okay,” Nat said, breathing hard. Steve looked up at her, ready for more direction. “Hold your breath and don’t move. I’m going to use your face real quick.”</p><p>Then her grip on the back of his skull tightened so she could grind her cunt against Steve’s mouth. “At the end I like -- unh -- to hold the reins,” Nat explained. Steve couldn’t nod or speak, so he gave her a thumbs up.</p><p>Nat grinned hugely and tipped her head back. She circled her hips, dragging her clit from Steve’s lips to his chin and up again, then crushed Steve’s nose against the front of her pelvis and used him how she liked. Steve was drowning in velvet, not quite an active participant, performing the simplest task and determined to do it well.</p><p>The pressure of Nat’s hand on the back of Steve’s head smashed his lips against the front of his teeth, rough enough to nick the insides of his mouth. The top of Nat’s clit ground slickly against him, the slippery folds of her cunt trapped between her pelvic bone and the unforgiving planes of Steve’s jaw.</p><p>Mostly on accident, Steve came, grunting into Nat as he made a mess against his belly. It felt <em>glorious,</em> stupidly, wordlessly better than a dry, threadbare sheet should against his cock should.</p><p>Nat noticed he was coming, obviously, and broke into a laugh. It wasn’t mean — she sounded delighted, surprised into happiness, still riding Steve’s mouth and chin.</p><p>“Yes, oh, good job Steve. Look at my good boy,” she said, and somehow she wasn’t disappointed. Natasha was enjoying this, pleased with him for squirming on the mattress while she used his face. Hell if that didn’t make Steve feel strange and wonderful. </p><p>She shuddered, cursed deep in her chest, and bucked her hips hard enough to bruise Steve’s lips. He was starting to go hazy and boneless but he was pretty sure — mostly certain — that meant she came too. Nat let go of his hair, and he tried nuzzling her gently, just in case she wanted a little more.</p><p>“I’m done, I’m done,” Nat panted. “That was great — you really came just from eating me out, huh Rogers?” Her voice was low and pleased, and she ruffled Steve’s hair to boot, smug.</p><p>Steve groaned and rolled off the wet spot, loathe to leave the soft place between Natasha’s legs but also not enjoying the feeling of his own spunk going cold and gluey under his stomach. “I humped the bed a bit too, Widow. Don’t get cocky.”</p><p>“Oh, sure.”</p><p>Steve paused and bit his lip. He felt swollen and tender and worked over. Probably all of Nat’s boys felt like that, after. “I liked it.”</p><p>“Me too.”</p>
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</div>They switched to the bed without jizz on it. Nat fell asleep instantly, still naked. That meant Steve was staying up on lookout duty.<p>He expected her to only pretend to nap, or at least to hold herself to stage one sleep, no more than a hypnic jerk away from awareness. But Steve felt her muscles go fully limp, and eventually her eyes began to dart behind her eyelids, betraying fretful dreams.</p><p>Given Natasha, Steve thought this probably meant more than the sex. He was careful not to touch her except where she was already curled against his side. Steve wanted her to keep sleeping next to him more than he wanted to stroke the curve of her shoulder.</p><p>Only just, but still.</p><p>He hoped she wasn’t dreaming about Fury.</p><p>When it was his turn to rest, he hoped it wasn’t Buck.</p><p>Steve sat for a long time, just breathing. Then he stared at Nat’s sleeping face for a while. It sure <em>felt</em> like the real Natasha had methodically taken his virginity. She’d give him a hiding if she caught him thinking that, Steve thought. Nat wanted him to believe her personality was a hologram, always shifting depending on where a person was looking from, intangible once you turned away. But maybe when she was alone, when nobody was watching, she got to be herself. Maybe not.</p><p>
  <em>If a tree falls in a forest and no one is there to hear it, who is Natasha Romanov?</em>
</p><p>Steve’s next thought followed, unbidden: <em>I want to have sex with her again.</em></p><p>Maybe if he got another chance he could last long enough to put his dick inside her, even, which seemed like something a guy was supposed to get done the first time. That’s how he’d expected to make love: on his wedding night, in his own bed, with a woman he’d spend the rest of his life with. He’d planned on it in the same vague way he thought about teaching his sons to properly score a baseball game and watching his daughters practice cartwheels on the front lawn, plus all the other things he’d get to have when the war was over.</p><p>Christ, he was looking forward to the end of the fighting. If they cleared the traitors out of SHIELD, maybe it would be done, and they’d ship him home. He’d have to ask Peggy to forgive him for having sex in a Super 8 with — </p><p>No — no he wouldn’t.</p><p>Peggy’d married someone else while was overseas, and home was half a century away. Steve bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, pressing his fingers into his tear ducts to stop them leaking. <em>Always so dramatic,</em> Peggy’s old, frail voice echoed in his head. He chuckled weakly at himself: big strong man, naked, self-pitying, and not a virgin any longer as of an hour and a half ago.</p><p>“Hey,” Natasha said beside him, eyes barely slitted open, body still relaxed as if in sleep. Damn. She needed the rest, and he’d woken her up sniffling about things he couldn’t change. “I’m sorry it wasn’t with a nice girl like you wanted.”</p><p>“‘S not that,” Steve said, muffled.</p><p>“Okay,” Nat replied, and didn’t push. She was good like that, when she wanted to be. At quiet.</p><p>“Everything’s gone to hell,” Steve explained softly. “The whole damn world is fucked up, and I don’t know what to do.”</p><p>A muscle in Nat’s cheek twitched, drawing the corner of her mouth up a fraction in a simple, lazy expression. Steve knew she did it on purpose — Nat’s face never moved without conscious direction — but that didn’t mean it was duplicitous. <em>Don’t be a worrywart,</em> it said. <em>When <span class="u">isn’t</span> the world trying to grind us all up to make into sausages?</em></p><p>“What, you think I should stop moping and take a shower?”</p><p>Nat raised a silent eyebrow and looked up at him from under her lashes.</p><p>“I’m gonna stop moping and take a shower.”</p><p>He paused two thirds of the way out of bed with his feet on the floor to contemplate a stain on the carpet, and then Natasha moved behind him. The bed dipped underneath Steve, and he turned his head to see what she was up to. To his surprise, he found her only a few inches away, kneeling on the bed.</p><p>She leaned in and kissed him, quick and dry, on the forehead. Then she sat back on her heels and gave him a level look.</p><p>“You’re all right, Rogers,” she said eventually. Steve managed a half-smile, and Nat smacked him encouragingly on the shoulder, courteously picking the side that wasn’t bruised. “Plus not half-bad at cunnilingus, which is something. Now go get your ass in the shower, and I’ll take the next watch.”</p><div class="center">
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